


Anything you want from me

by eldvarpa



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming In Pants, Groping, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Sexual Fantasy, Treat Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldvarpa/pseuds/eldvarpa
Summary: Fëanor wants different lessons from Rúmil. Rúmil does try to resist.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Rúmil of Tirion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Anything you want from me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna (elwinfortuna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/gifts).



“That's it for today,” Rúmil said, gently shrugging off the hand Fëanáro had hooked around his arm while he read Elemmírë's new manuscript, delivered from Valmar a mere two hours before. He bent his head, fixing his gaze on the scroll as he rolled it up, careful to maintain an even tension and avoid wrinkles. The motion was smooth and practised, and he didn't falter, although he was keenly aware of Fëanáro's eyes on him, trailing the movement of his hands with keen concentration – covetous, almost.

“You may go,” Rúmil spoke again and went on to slide the scroll back inside its case, even though he knew his words were falling on deaf ears.

“I don't want to go,” Fëanáro promptly reply. 

His voice had deepened, losing his familiar boyish chirp to give way to a much more enticing gruffness. 

Fëanáro scooted closer on the sofa, and swiftly – assuredly, as if he belonged there – climbed onto Rúmil's lap and sat on it, locking his arms behind Rúmil's neck, his head rested in the crook of Rúmil's shoulder. 

Rúmil managed to only sigh. Fëanáro was heavy, but it was not discomfort that made him tense and almost moan. 

“You're too old for this,” he said.

“I'm too old for this,” Fëanáro parroted, pouting, “and too young for this.” He brushed his lips on the underside of Rúmil's jaw then opened them and kissed the tender skin there. 

Rúmil's hands immediately went to Fëanáro's sides. “Exactly.” 

He attempted to push him back, but Fëanáro held his ground. Or Rúmil didn't actually put that much strength in the attempt and, in any event, did nothing to stop Fëanáro from sliding one leg to his right, perch the other on his left and thus kneel athwart him. The heat of Fëanáro's crotch washed down on his thighs, tickling them, pooling in his own groin. Rúmil's hands clenched around the not-so-narrow hips, feeling the contours of flesh and bone under the layers of fabric, his nerves fully awakened to the allure of a forbidden pleasure.

“I love you, Rúmil,” Fëanáro whispered, in much too sultry a way for someone his age. “You're my mentor, my only friend, and I want you to be my lover, too.”

 _'In a few years,'_ Rúmil should have said. He should have definitely let go of Fëanáro as Fëanáro began undulating his hips into him, rubbing against him. Fëanáro's hardness poked his belly whenever Fëanáro canted his hips forwards, not the size of a child any longer even if he still had quite a few years to grow. It was only a matter of seconds before Rúmil's own cock stirred too, rising treacherously in his pants until Fëanáro could brush it if he ground down. 

Fëanáro did grind down. He smiled broadly the very first time he met with his hardness, and his movements changed and slowed down to make the contact easier and to draw it out. Rúmil's legs inched open, until Fëanáro could almost drop between them, and their cocks bumped and slid together artlessly but so so perfectly.

“Rúmil,” Fëanáro moaned, and then in an even huskier voice added, “I know you want me. You're so hard.”

Rúmil could have laughed if his cock wasn't pressed against the front of his pants and his chest didn't heave with the effort it took to keep from grinding back against Fëanáro. He tightened his hold on Fëanáro's sides for a moment, then let his hands dip down to cup his ass, pulling Fëanáro even closer to himself, and shut his eyes. 

He could still keep his body in check, if barely, but his mind had already given in and was teeming with visions of his lust. 

Himself buried inside Fëanáro's still untouched, quivering, oh-so-tight ass, coaxing moans and whimpers from his lips more marvellous than any articulate sound. The thrill, to feel his walls pulsate with the friction and contract erratically, unused to the sensation. His mouth on Fëanáro's cock, taking him deep until his nose was buried in Fëanáro's pubes and he was choking with Fëanáro's scent making him dizzy. Or he was lying on his back with his legs splayed as wide as they would go and he let Fëanáro mount him, in the main room of the library where the light filtering through window panes tinted with red yellow and green carpeted the floor with an illusion of everlasting autumn.

Gritting his teeth, he dislodged Fëanáro from his lap and threw him down on the sofa with a vehemence that surprised him. Fëanáro however giggled softly, not dismayed in the least. A pleased smile spread on his dishevelled face. Rúmil returned the smile with a breathless grin and crawled atop him to kiss him. 

Fëanáro was growing tall but Rúmil still towered over him, could easily cover his whole body with his own. When he ground down, artlessly, his bulge met only the soft velvet of the sofa, but Fëanáro's cock pressed into his hip, tempting him to give in and undress him there and then. He could not do that yet, he would not, and not just because of Finwë's ire if he were to know, or the memory of his friend and Queen. 

He drew back, fending off Fëanáro's attempt to cling to his tunic, but instead of standing up and putting a roomful of books and scrolls between temptation and himself, he remained sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, reluctant to leave. 

Fëanáro seized the opportunity to sit up and pull him close again.

“Take me.”

“Not any time soon,” Rúmil stuttered, his voice strident: Fëanáro put a hand on his thigh, the fingers spread wide open. Rúmil felt each fingertip so fucking clearly. He swallowed, trying to keep himself from shivering. “We will have to wait until after your next begetting day, at -...at least.”

Fëanáro tilted his head, stroking up and down Rúmil's thigh as he considered his words (or pretended to), then gave a small nod. “Then show me how it's done.”

“What?”

“Show me how a man gets fucked. Stick your fingers up your ass. Let me watch. It's not improper if you don't touch me, right?”

Rúmil shook his head – it would be only _marginally_ less improper, not any less filthy, and it certainly wouldn't make him feel any less guilty, especially not given how often he had already taken Fëanáro in his dreams.

“It's your duty to instruct me,” Fëanáro insisted.

 _'Not like that'_ , Rúmil wanted to say, but he didn't trust his own voice anymore. His cock was so hard he feared he would come inside his pants at any moment without even touching himself. 

Fëanáro shoved him towards the back of the sofa, effectively trapping him.

“We would do it in your rooms. I would stand by your bed, or maybe I could sit on that sofa you have, and you would be sprawled at my feet, completely naked, your legs splayed wide to show me your hole. Your cock –” Fëanáro turned his hand and brushed his knuckles up Rúmil's thigh to his bulge, “– would stand up from your body, all hard and leaking, or it would curve back towards your belly. I wonder how big you are.” 

Rúmil made an indignant sound. Fëanáro grinned and moved his knuckles up and down his bulge, circled it as if assessing it. When he was satisfied with that he stretched one finger and dragged it from the tip of Rúmil's cock down to his balls, and poked them. Rúmil gritted his teeth. 

“You'd need to find a suitable angle to fuck yourself with your fingers, be careful to let me see it all. Maybe you could use some implement too, one of your larger calligraphy brushes or a toy made for the very purpose. I could even make you one, the size and shape you want.”

Rúmil squirmed. He could no longer keep still. It wasn't just the tantalising touch. There was a certain subtle power that Fëanáro's voice had. His hips jerked against Fëanáro's finger.

“Rúmil.” 

Fëanáro lifted his tunic out of the way and properly cupped his balls through the fabric of his pants this time. Rúmil hissed, pressing his back against the sofa as if that could have saved him. 

“I have imagined it so many times while I touch myself. You moving your fingers in and out of your ass. You could fist your cock at the same time, I wouldn't mind. What would your thoughts be while you pleasure yourself with your eyes staring into mine? Would it make you come all too soon? Would you wish to keep going for as long as possible? Maybe you would get tired, and ask me to do it, to fuck you with my fingers or with whatever object you are using. Or maybe,” Fëanáro paused, stroked him way too gently. “Even that would not be enough for you. Maybe you will wish for my cock inside your ass. Imagine it. Me sticking my own fingers inside you to open you up then fucking you. Maybe, in the end, you'd decide I'm not too young to give you what you want.”

Rúmil could imagine it all too well. His hips jerked erratically a couple of times then he started thrusting his crotch into Fëanáro's hand, trying to get him to touch more of his length. He cursed while he came, filling his breaches and pants with his own come, spurt after spurt.

Fëanáro kept his hand on his cock until he was through. 

“Thanks for the lesson,” he said, bringing the hand to his nose and inhaling whatever scent he found there. 

He gathered his books and calmly walked out of the library, softly closing the door behind him like a proper student.

Rúmil took a moment to recover, then went after him.


End file.
